


Love Bites!

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universes, BDSM, M/M, Multi, Plug&play, Smut-adjacent, Vampires, jazz gives bad advice, now with actual smut!, vampire robots i know it doesn't make any sense just roll with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-02-03 06:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: In which a set of vampire fangs gets passed around like a party favor, the author indulges in a little monster kink and, as usual, Rodimus Prime is in way over his head and kind of loving it.





	1. Side A, Track 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide whether I liked the image of vampire Roddy feeding on Galvatron or vampire Galvatron feeding on Roddy. So I says to myself, why not both? :D

Rodimus Prime made the mistake of feeding on an unconsenting person only once.

He told himself that Galvatron was unconscious (true), had energy to spare (generally true), and that he himself was injured and desperate (urgently true). He told himself this was war, and certain acts in wartime were permissable (not always true) or at least forgiveable (hardly ever true). Even so, when Galvatron woke up, roared in incandescent rage, and punched him down the nearby set of stairs, Rodimus at least had the self-awareness to look Galvatron in the optics from the middle landing where he’d ended up and acknowledge, “Yeah, I deserved that.”

Judging from the cannon being leveled at him, Galvatron clearly agreed. “What did you do, Prime,” the Emperor of the Decepticons demanded. “Answer me!”

“Just a - a bite. A little one.” Rodimus gathered himself up to his knees. What little he’d had of Galvatron’s (hot, bitter, _intoxicating_ ) inner fuel was already working through his systems, awakening his senses, filling him with just enough energy to _maybe_ have a chance of getting out of this in one piece. A small one. The odds improved if he could talk his way out of having to dodge a cannon shot. “See, look,” Rodimus urged, “it’s fine. Just a little puncture, right?”

Bafflement stayed Galvatron’s cannon-arm far more than Rodimus’s words ever could. He lifted his arm, stared at the twin puncture marks on his wrist. Rodimus wanted to watch his face, see the moment where he put two and two together, but there was still a tiny thread of fuel shimmering on Galvatron’s gauntlent and Rodimus was suddenly struck by an intense, tank-clenching longing to lick it off.

Of course, Galvatron caught exactly where his gaze was locked. Midway through a hazy-sharp fantasy of tracing the ridge of Galvatron’s energon-slick bracer with his glossa, Rodimus was snapped back to cold, hard, _thoroughly embarrassing_ reality by the warlord’s laugh. “Well, now, Prime,” Galvatron all but _purred._ “See something you want?”

_Oh, Primus._

The look of dark amusement on Galvatron’s face told Rodimus volumes about what he looked like right then: on his knees at the bottom of the stairs, streaked with smoke and sparks and the fluids he desperately needed to replenish, staring like an Empty at Galvatron at the top. Rodimus bit his lip - a tricky proposition these days. “Yeah,” he admitted, rough-voiced. Galvatron’s engine raced at the admission, crimson optics flaring, and Rodimus was suddenly sure he wasn’t the only one indulging in fantasy.

Still, Rodimus reflected as his rival descended step by predatory step down the stairs, Galvatron was the _last_ mech he would’ve expected to have a vampire kink. Well, he could roll with it. If Galvatron wanted to offer Rodimus another taste, that was _just fine with him._

Shifting on his knees, tilting his head in coy invitation, Rodimus tried a smile. “See something you want?”

Galvatron’s smirk curved like a blade. “Oh yes, Prime.”

And then he grabbed Rodimus’s head and _shoved_ and there Rodimus went clattering down another flight of stairs, which he was sure was overkill (NOT TRUE) while Galvatron leaped into the air amid the crack-boom of his flight engine and his wild, triumphant laugh. By the time Rodimus came to a dizzy, crooked-limbed halt, Galvatron was well out of range, flashes of violet particle-cannon energy (and he knew now what that energy tasted like, and he’d never forget it) lighting up the empty buildings at the far end of the battlefield. Rodimus was left to gather up what was left of himself and limp to cover, consoling himself that at least he’d learned something new today.

 _Apparently Galvatron_ does _understand delayed gratification. Who knew._

(As for the other lesson, the one Rodimus really _needed_ to learn - well. When Cyclonus found out about their little encounter he made getting shoved down two flights of stairs feel like a pat on the head. But that’s another story.)


	2. Side B, Track 1

_They said he was crazy._

Galvatron was half dead and ninety percent empty and _hated_ it, hated _Rodimus_ for seeing him like this, Rodimus could see it in the sluggish red balefuness of his optics. Rodimus had every reason to end it right there. No action required, even. Just walk away.

He didn’t. He entered the makeshift cell and knelt, medical-grade fuel in hand.

 _They said_ I _was crazy._

Rodimus yelped in protest when Galvatron weakly (for him) knocked the cube out of his hand. He didn’t realize what was happening when the injured warlord towed his arm down, struggling up on one elbow to reach it. Galvatron’s mouth was searing hot when it descended on Rodimus’s elbow joint, but Rodimus only had a moment to wonder at that before the pain of something needle-sharp being driven into the plating hit him.

 _“Hey!_ What the slag-!”

Galvatron growled, his grip on Rodimus’s wrist unshakeable, and only then did Rodimus understand why he’d knocked the cube away. It was a different kind of fuel Galvatron needed. Rodimus was paralyzed by shock for only a moment, but when he came back to himself he realized he’d clenched his fist to make the fuel flow to Galvatron faster.

_They’re probably right._

There was no denying the Autobots needed Galvatron. They were far away from Cybertron and Earth’s support, the Quintessons were relentless in their pursuit, and the spacelanes in this sector were so weirdly twisted that it took an equally twisted mind to untangle them. So Galvatron was their navigator, and he and Rodimus argued and snapped (figuratively) at each other while the other ‘Bots made amused noises behind their backs about sexual tension, and Rodimus’s collection of puncture scars grew.

_But I’m not doing this because I have to._

Galvatron was so possessive of him now. He grabbed Rodimus’s hand at the slightest elevation in his mood, whether anger or happiness. He pushed Rodimus around, grabbed him around the waist, or towed him from stem to stern of their spacecraft shouting about whatever’d gotten under his helmet. He snarled at Autobots who came too close until Rodimus made him stop, and sweet Primus’s bolts if _that_ wasn’t an argument that lasted a solid week. Rodimus had to stick to his guns, though, if only to remind himself that he _wasn’t_ Galvatron’s mobile distillery, that he still had an existence outside the moments fang met metal and the world went hazy and cool.

Galvatron was possessive, and it scared Rodimus how much he liked it.

_I swear I’m trying the best I can, but I was never meant to give orders. Never meant to lead._

Dormant-shift, and all was quiet. Rodimus joined Galvatron on the berth, buzzing faintly from a slight overcharge, and Galvatron wasted no time in grabbing his arm to pull him down. Rodimus didn’t resist, letting himself be guided down to the berth, until Galvatron’s mouth brushed his collar fairing. “No,” he blurted, jerking back.

Galvatron frowned down at Rodimus, crimson optics narrowing with displeasure in a shadowed face. “You’re not changing your mind,” he demanded, and Rodimus winced at the question mark Galvatron couldn’t get past his teeth.

He reached up, braced his hand against Galvatron’s shoulder. “No, but - not the neck.”

Galvatron’s mouth turned down, and Rodimus had to suppress a laugh. The highly dangerous vampire warlord was almost _pouting._ “Fueling from your arm joints takes too long, Prime!”

“I know, I know it’s slow, I just - not there. …you know why.”

Galvatron’s engine went from hollow rumble to discordant growl. For a moment as the warlord descended Rodimus was afraid Galvatron _didn’t_ know why, didn’t understand or care to understand, and he’d have to fight again - but Galvatron came down over Rodimus’s _chest,_ and his fangs scraped over Rodimus’s sigil, and Rodimus laughed softly and stroked Galvatron’s crown in gratitude.

Then the fangs sank in, and Rodimus yelped. “What the hell, Galvatron, there’s not even any fuel lines there!”

Galvatron laughed around his mouthful of sigil. Leaking from the corners of his mouth, rivulets of pale blue energy crawled over Rodimus’s chest, bathing the room briefly in Matrixlight. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Rodimus asked, mystified and fascinated. Galvatron’s only answer was an amused hum-rumble that rippled through him, sparking his senses with pleasure.

“Worth it,” Galvatron grinned when he finally pulled away, Matrixlight still gleaming off his fangs.

_But I can do this. I can sustain. I can nurture. I can share my fuel for the sake of others - for the sake of my enemy, whose spark burns the same as mine._

Some time later the Autobots picked up Cyclonus and Scourge, and suddenly Rodimus Prime found himself fueling for four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was fun. I'm leaving the chapter count open because I might come back to this. Possibly with other characters wearing the fangs. ;)


	3. Side A, Track 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are logistical issues involved when the Prime is a vampire, and everyone's still working out the kinks. (Ahem.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains porn, angst and bad ideas in the bedroom.

Rodimus gripped Springer’s shoulders, tried not to tremble at the pulse of life below the warrior’s thick plating, the warmth seeping beguilingly through his gorget, _taste, take_. ….no, no no no. “Hey. Idiot,” he snapped into his best friend’s scowl, _too close, I can feel the hollowness of hunger._ The two of them were in the hallway, anyone could walk by and see them arguing and Rodimus was painfully aware of how inappropriate this was for his new rank, but he couldn’t even afford to break optic contact with his fellow warrior, let alone move somewhere private. “When are you gonna get it through your thick cranial shell,” he gritted, trying to end this quickly, “that I’m - not - safe?”

Springer’s optics flashed, and Rodimus saw the shove coming and let it happen, breaking them apart. “Yeah? Neither am I,” Springer growled. “I had a kill count in the hundreds before you’d even come online. I’ve kicked your aft before and I can do it again, upgrade or no upgrade, so don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

“I’m not!” Rodimus was backed against the wall, and that was bad because it made his threat subroutines start firing up, and _that_ was even worse because this was _Springer,_ they were practically build-brothers, _Springer was not a threat._ He was. “I’m telling you that until I get a handle on the instinct to _drink people’s fuel until they collapse,_ we can’t cross cables.”

“Rod…” Springer’s stance softened, allowing Rodimus to kill his internal alerts. “We haven’t seen you outside a briefing room or in the field since Unicron. Just, you know - Arcee misses you.”

Rodimus felt his lip curve in an unwilling smile; he ducked his head down, hiding the potential for a flash of fang. “Just Arcee, huh?”

Springer growled, shoved at his shoulder. “You know what I mean, moron.”

“Jerk.” Rodimus shoved back, but there was no power behind it and Springer barely moved. “Look, just give me some time, okay? I’ll figure something out. …I miss you too.”

Springer huffed, his vents opening with an audible _clack._ “Just - don’t keep us waiting too long. Okay, Rod?”

“…okay.”

*

From a purely technical standpoint, Rodimus didn’t need to bite anyone to survive. Vampirism was not unheard of on Cybertron, and Ratchet had long ago perfected a formula for pre-filtered fuel that worked just fine for a fuel-phage Prime. First Aid only had to adjust the mix a little to make it work for Rodimus.

But even if cubes of special fuel fulfilled Rodimus’s physical needs, the urge to bite remained. A bothersome, illogical urge, one that distracted the young Prime when he already had far too much vying for his limited attention span. It made sense to just indulge it now and then, rather than Rodimus forcing himself to ignore it and getting even more distracted and stressed.

It was usually Ultra Magnus he went to, when he was tired of fighting it. Magnus had the strength to pull him off if he overstepped his bounds or took too much, and he’d made it clear from the start that he considered this part of his solemn duty to support his Prime. He had no idea how much that hurt. So Rodimus only went to Magnus when he had to, and hated every second of it even as it bought him a few cycles’ worth of relief.

He’d had… _offers,_ of course, from others. Whether or not he felt comfortable accepting them depended less on how he felt about the individual and more about whether he thought they could take him down if they needed to. Hot Spot was a yes; First Aid was a definite no. Grimlock had tried it once and decided it wasn’t his kink. Perceptor said outright it _was_ his kink, but that he wasn’t capable of fighting a mad Prime off. Springer and Arcee…

…Springer? Maybe, but Rodimus had beaten him in forty percent of their sparring bouts since his upgrade. Those were bad odds. Arcee? She was the one of the deadliest warriors Rodimus knew with a gun in her hand, but he was twice her size now and he was haunted with the fear that he would overpower her. It wasn’t worth her life. Even if they both broke up with him.

_Maybe they should._

But Rodimus hadn’t tried everything he could yet, and until then he wasn’t going to give up. That was one of his few strengths. So here he was, pacing in front of a nondescript door in a fairly intact part of Iacon, close enough to Autobot HQ to get things like lights that worked most of the time but far enough away that you could pretend it wasn’t government housing. Rodimus crossed the cracked street back and forth a few times, leaned against the flickering lamppost thinking about maintenance issues and unionized labor and basically _anything_ but what he was there for, berated himself for acting like a creep, stomped up to the door like it had personally offended him and raised his hand to hit the chime-

“-wuh! Oh. Uh. Hi, Jazz.”

“Hey,” greeted the last remaining member of Prime’s officer cadre, clearly not fooled by Rodimus’s attempt at a casual demeanor. “Long time no see, kid.”

And that was a stab of guilt, because he was only here to ask a favor in the first place and it’d never even occurred to him that Jazz might want to see him (especially him, of all people). “Do you have some time?” he asked, and Jazz stepped through the doorway and took his elbow, guiding him towards the road.

“I got some errands to run,” Jazz explained. “Let’s talk while walking, huh?”

“…sure.”

They went to the fuel depot, the detailer’s, and a couple of junk shops, and it took that long for Rodimus to explain his problem. He didn’t quite dare to ask ‘how did Optimus handle it?’ but from the regretful glance Jazz shot him Rodimus was pretty sure he’d picked up on it anyway. Jazz was like that - never stopped being too sharp for anyone’s comfort, even after his well-earned retirement. Sitting at a hopeful scrap-metal goodie stall, Jazz mused over the problem Rodimus presented.

“Look,” he said at last. “At some point you’re just gonna have to learn to trust yourself. But that’s only gonna come with practice, and in the meantime….”

He shifted, and Rodimus realized he was accessing his subspace pocket. His hand was suddenly filled with a stack of palm-sized metal discs with a smaller black button in the middle - the kind with a crackable security seal.

“Put the flat side against your attacker-“ Jazz held one of the discs to the side of Rodimus’s helm to demonstrate - “click the button, and a short-range EMP charge’ll knock ‘em out. User’s arm goes numb for a while, sure, but it’s better than dyin’.”

Rodimus blinked as Jazz filled his hands with the discs. “Do I even want to know why you have these?”

Jazz grinned, sharp as a vibroblade in the dark. “Probably not, Roddy.” He gave Rodimus’s arm a nudge. “Trust me, you get outta control enough to need to be on the receiving end of one of these babies, you won’t forget it in a hurry. Think of it as a training device.”

Rodimus closed his fingers carefully around the disks. “I got it. ….thanks.”

“No problem, kid. Just, uh…” Jazz rubbed the back of his helm. “Don’t tell Magnus where you got these, huh?”

“Got what?” Rodimus slipped the discs into subspace with his best innocent face. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

Jazz groaned and thumped his helm on the table, but there was a laugh plainly audible underneath. “Primus, get outta here before you kill me with secondhand embarrassment. Just well you got into command instead of SpecOps.”

“Aww, Jazz, that hurts,” Rodimus pouted, and tried to hide a grin of triumph - it was the first time he’d seen Jazz laugh since their world fell apart, and if Rodimus could accomplish that, he could manage this _thing_ with Arcee and Springer and being a vampire just fine.

*

“It’s an EMP disc. You put this side on me, snap the bit in the middle and-”

Arcee dropped the disc to the berth at once, horror and fury creasing her features. “Roddy, no! Are you crazy?”

“It’s a safety measure! Springer, help me out-” But no, Springer had already dropped his and stomped on it, and then Rodimus and Arcee had to haul him backwards on the berth before he collapsed swearing about his suddenly numb and useless leg.

“All. Your. Fault,” he gritted, pointing up at Rodimus from where he’d flopped backwards onto the berth, one arm slung around Arcee.

Rodimus flung up his hands. “Come on, both of you.”

“No, you come on!” Arcee snapped. “How dare you ask us to hurt you?”

“It doesn’t _hurt._ …does it?” Rodimus thought to ask Springer. Springer scowled and flipped him off. “See, Springer’s fine.”

Arcee’s fists clenched, and though Rodimus didn’t really think she’d deck him, he could tell she was thinking about it. When she did fling herself at him, though - making Springer go _oof_ as she put a knee in his good leg - it was in a fierce, trembling embrace that Rodimus couldn’t help but gently return.

“You jerk,” she scolded tearfully, “we will never, ever - how could you even think it?” And she put a hand on the back of his helm, for all the world like she was protecting _him,_ and Rodimus curled in around her with guilt. “You’re not a monster, you don’t need to - to be threatened with shock discs not to hurt us!”

“Even if that’s my kink?” Rodimus couldn’t resist countering, and this time Arcee really did smack him across the back of the helm. “….okay, I deserved that.”

Both of them glanced up when they heard Springer shift on the berth. Springer propped himself up on one arm to fix them with a troublemaking smirk, the kind that used to give Ultra Magnus an instant headache. “Well, hey, if that’s what you’re into, we can do that.”

“Springer!” Arcee groaned.

“C’mon, ‘Cee.” Springer was _purring_ now, and Rodimus didn’t like that incoming-trouble smirk on his friend’s face but that didn’t mean his body didn’t react to Springer’s voice with humming anticipation. “Wouldn’t it be hot to play with him like he _is_ dangerous? All tied up and leashed _and gagged?”_

Arcee got it immediately, but it wasn’t until she started to giggle that the credit dropped for Rodimus. “…oh!”

*

Springer was a _genius._ Or a complete pervert. Or a colossal aft. Rodimus couldn’t decide which.

His grand idea had Rodimus on his front in a hogtie, his mouth stoppered by a gag made of rubber just soft enough that the tips of his fangs sank into it before they were caught, helpless as the rest of him. Springer and Arcee were on either side of him, Springer’s hand on the back of his neck, Arcee’s clever fingers teasing the inner rims of his bank of ports without letting him take the _slightest_ relief from it. Rodimus rocked against the touch, his defiant voice strangled into wordless, protesting whimpers.

“Ooh, what a ferocious beast,” Arcee teased him, and the curl of her fingers had him shaking in the cuffs. “However will we tame you?”

“I got an idea or two,” Springer purred, and took Rodimus’s chin, grinning at the desperate glare Rodimus was giving him. “We know what ferocious beasts like, don’t we, Rod?”

_Bastard!_ Rodimus tried to lunge at him, mouth opening to bite, and achieved only a helpless flop against Springer’s legs, bonking his gagged face against his friend’s thigh. Arcee laughed and pinned him down where he was, her hands on his spoiler and her knee between his thighs. “You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” she purred, leaning with her full weight on his spoiler.

_I must be_ adorable _right now._

Springer’s thigh was still in front of his face, hot with life beneath the metal. Primus, he wanted to bite so badly - he crammed his face against Springer’s thigh, growling helplessly through the gag, _starving_ for energy and fuel and touch, their hands were all over him but _nothing would ever be enough…!_

Springer hooked his finger behind the buckle on the gag and pulled Rodimus’s head up, but his optics when they met Rodimus’s were all fond concern. //How’re you doing, Rod?// he whispered over their private-to-the-three-of-them comm channel.

Rodimus’s engine redlined in need, pulling his body into an arch sharper than the hogtie cuffs could manage alone. //Pleasepleasedon’tstopIneedthisIlovethis,// he babbled, his comm-voice a jumble of English and Cybertronian Standard and glyphs and raw binary, and felt Arcee tense and shiver above him and Springer clamp his other hand down on his shoulder. //PleaseIneedyou, don’teverstop-!//

“No more running from us,” Arcee ordered, and none of them noticed or cared she was breaking character.

//NeveragainIpromiseI’msorry-// and then Rodimus lost all coherency because his port banks were open and Springer and Arcee were plugging in, flooding his awareness with their energy, and everything else was lost in a wash of fire.

*

Ultra Magnus found Rodimus Prime in the medbay, half-sprawled on one of the recovery berths with a cube of his special prefiltered mix in his hand. “Slight berthroom accident,” he admitted with a faint smile, catching his second’s confused look.

“First Aid didn’t notify me you were injured,” Magnus answered, moving to sit on the next berth over. Trying, though he felt painfully awkward next to his former subordinate and current commander, to bridge the distance he sensed between them. “What happened?” he asked, hoping his concern would not be mistaken for judgement.

Rodimus rolled his optics. “I wasn’t _injured._ First Aid checked me over and said there was no permanent damage. I’m just waiting for the numbness to wear off.” Magnus remained silent, waiting for Rodimus to clarify, and his tank sank as his young Prime hunched in embarrassment. “I, uh. May have sat on a short-range EMP mine.”

“….you sat on an EMP mine.” Okay, that was judgement in his voice, but now Magnus was in Enforcer mode, _detect and eliminate threats to Prime._ “In your quarters.”

…except, Magnus remembered as Rodimus squirmed, that ‘quarters’ hadn’t been the word he’d used. He’d said ‘berthroom,’ which meant- “Rodimus, _tell_ me you weren’t using an EMP mine as an interface aid.”

“No!”

Magnus paused. It was hard to parse that panicked look on Rodimus’s face - was that embarrassment at having been caught out or at discussing interface-related matters with his former commander in general? “…just please observe proper safety protocols from now on,” he muttered, and Rodimus relaxed - prematurely, as something else occurred to Magnus. “And why did you have a short-range EMP mine in your quarters in the first place?”

Rodimus sputtered something evasive and hunched away from Magnus, which did nothing to settle his Enforcer protocols.


End file.
